


your heartlines

by worry



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, background damien/hugo and dadsona/craig, trans bi lucien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: Amanda laughs, pulls her jacket back on. The sun shines around her and she looks golden; he’s never really looked at her until now, until this light, this beautiful day in the grass. She’s - beautiful. She really is. Everything about her radiates, the freckles on her face like clouds dusting around the sky, eyes bright. He’s not a poetic person. There are too many metaphors that can be used here, to describe the sudden realization in Lucien’s mind.(Or: the one where Lucien and Ernest are step brothers, Lucien is kinda maybe super duper crushing on Amanda Richardson, and literally everyone is in love with Noah.)





	1. if you're lookin' for a dream

**Author's Note:**

> .......I JUST THINK THEY'RE CUTE, OKAY????? 
> 
> Also read [this post](http://damien-bloodmarch.tumblr.com/post/163655040311/lucien-bloodmarch-is-at-least-16) if you're worried abt the age, it explains it well. I'm firmly against large age gap ships and would not write one.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one who got heartbroken over Noah.” Lucien laughs. “I heard about that too. Tough.”

 

Amanda laughs, pulls her jacket back on. The sun shines around her and she looks _golden;_ he’s never really _looked_ at her until now, until this light, this beautiful day in the grass. She’s - beautiful. She really is. Everything about her _radiates,_ the freckles on her face like clouds dusting around the sky, eyes bright. He’s not a poetic person. There are too many metaphors that can be used here, to describe the sudden realization in Lucien’s mind.

 

“Wait, you’re serious?” she asks, now staring wide.

 

“Did you think I was joking?”

 

“I… um....”

 

Their knees brush together for a small moment, too small, too insignificant. And then the lunch bell rings, tearing them apart, apart, apart.

 

Oh. Oh. Oh _no._

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a knock on the door of his open locker; he doesn’t even have to _look,_ only bites his lip and sighs. They do things like this now, like sneak up on each other and pretend to hate each other and then meet up at midnight when their parents are asleep to go do Normal Human Teen things like attempt to Cask of Amontadillo random people on the streets. It’s been _a long time._ They’re still scrubbing brick sealant out of their hands and hair.

 

Maybe trying to turn another human being into a living-slash-dying literary reference actually brings people together. Makes them closer. Who knew?

 

“What the hell do you want, Ernest?”

 

He slams the locker closed. “I need _you._ ”

 

“Okay,” Lucien says, and gives Ernest a patronizing pat on the head. “Whatever.”

 

Ernest shakes him away. “Really, Lucien?” He sighs. “Anyway. You’re like, my last choice for this, but because I barely have any friends… I guess I gotta use you.”

 

Lucien rolls his eyes, starts walking up the stairs. Ernest follows behind like a puppy, because of _course,_ the kid doesn’t know how to let things go. He’s… endearingly stupid.

 

“C’mon, just tell me already.”

 

“Will you be my wingman?”

 

Lucien bursts into his laughter, and then chokes on it; he’s going to die here in this hallway, because Ernest Hemingway Vega wants him to be his fucking _wingman._ Who does he even want to impress? Who would even want to talk to Ernest for more than like, five minutes? It’s a waste of time.

 

Then again. It’s obvious that Ernest couldn’t land a date with anyone on his own, so yes, of course he needs Lucien’s help.

 

He nearly falls to the ground— _is that Amanda coming out of the girls’ bathroom?_ —but Ernest holds him up, surprisingly strong. “I’m serious.”

 

“You’re gonna be undateable no matter what, you know, but fine, whatever, I’ll do it just so you stop annoying me. Who do you wanna get with, anyway?”

 

“Amanda.”

 

Lucien fiddles with the chains hanging off of his belt. “There are a _lot_ of Amandas in this school. You gotta be more specific.”

 

“Richardson.”

 

It takes him a minute to process it, and then he starts laughing _again._

 

(Yeah. It’s definitely Amanda, and now she’s seen him laughing his ass off in the middle of a hallway like a complete idiot. Great.)

 

“Hate to break it to you, but you don’t have a chance with her at all.”

 

“We’ll _see about that,_ ” he hisses under his breath. Louder: “Whatever, look, just… help me out, okay? If you do, I won’t tell Damien that you bought the sparkler that I tried to shove down Joseph’s pants.”

 

Lucien pauses. “Ew, don’t call my dad by his first name, that’s weird. And I mean, we’re gonna be step-brothers soon, so I’m just telling you the truth ‘cause I have to. I’m the same age as her, middle schoolers are like toddlers to us.”

 

Ernest fake-pouts. “I’m a toddler to you?”

 

“Kinda.” He winks. “But seriously, buddy, this is just a bad idea. Go for someone your own age.”

 

“Lucien.”

 

“Hey, what about Carmensi—”

 

“I’m dialing your home phone right now. He’s gonna find out.”

 

Ernest pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, draws out the last few words in a sing-song. Lucien just stares at him. “Go ahead. I really don’t care, Ernest.”

 

His eyes widen in response, staring right into Lucien’s soul, the fucking demon kid. “I thought you liked Noah.”

 

“What?”

 

“But you like her, don’t you?”

 

“Ernest, I swear to God—”

 

Ernest snickers. “Gotta go, bye.” He rushes away, presumably, hopefully, back to his classroom. The school day is nearly over; some part of him wishes that _he_ was the one being Cask of Amontadillo-ed.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a note on the front door that reads, in perfect cursive, _DEAR SON, I AM SPENDING THE EVENING AT HUGO’S HOME. I SHALL RETURN AROUND EIGHT O’CLOCK. YOUR DINNER IS ATOP THE STOVE._

 

Great. This means that either A. his father and Mr. Vega and fucking Ernest are having a very awkward dinner together, or B. they’re doing Things (oh god oh god oh god NO that’s disgusting) and Ernest is wandering the streets of Maple Bay doing God-knows-what.

 

Good for them. Lucien will never hear the end of it.

 

There’s baked macaroni & cheese on the stove. Lucien’s favorite. Something is definitely up.

 

He’s halfway through the entire, giant serving when his phone goes crazy. If it’s Ernest, Lucien is going to throw his phone into the ocean—

 

**new message from amanda r.**

**new message from amanda r.**

**new message from amanda r.**

**new message from amanda r.**

 

Okay. This is worse. Against his better judgement, he opens them.

 

 **amanda r.** [4:01]: dude

 **amanda r.** [4:01]: your strep brother is here

 **amanda r.** [4:01]: step* that’s a rlly bad typo sorry

 **amanda r.** [4:02]: but you gotta come take care of him, hes been telling craig stories about gym class for the past half hour and im 99% sure craig just poured some alcohol into his kale smoothie

  


Okay. This is the _absolute, complete worst thing ever._ He’s going to kill Ernest.

 

 **lucien** [4:04]: that may be a typo, but it is highly accurate

 **lucien** [4:04]: fuck

 **lucien** [4:04]: ok i’ll be over soon

 **lucien** [4:04]: ask craig if he’s willing to share that smoothie

 **amanda r**. [4:05]: i would but i also really dooooooooon’t waaaaaaaaaaanna get leeeeeeeectuuuuuuured

 

He smiles.

 

 **lucien** [4:06]: ok fair enough, i was joking anywys

 

* * *

 

 

Amanda has her hair down. It’s the first thing he notices when she answers the door; her yellow hairtie is tied neatly around her wrist, and her _hair is down._ Brushing against her shoulders like touching stars.

 

Jesus.

 

“Lucien?” she asks, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Hi. Problem here. Ernest problem. Ernest bad problem. Remember?”

 

“Right, sorry.”

 

He enters the Richardson household— _his shoulder brushes against Amanda’s as he enters, holy hell_ —and spots Ernest on the couch next to a very, _very_ disgruntled Craig. Mr. Richardson is sitting on the couch end, and their hands are tangled; he’s also drinking his very own kale smoothie, likely spiked as well.

 

Okay. It’s kind of endearing, but Lucien would rather die than admit that.

 

Ernest’s eyes widen at the sight of him. He stands up to leave, heads for the door animal-fast, but Lucien catches him by the hood of his jacket. “Not so fast, buddy.”

 

“I—”

 

“Luci, bro! Come here!”

 

Fucking shit damn hell shit fuck.

 

Now they’re going to have to _talk._ Craig will make it A Thing and Lucien will be forced to do _pleasantries._ This was not the plan. The plan was: drag Ernest out of Amanda’s house as quickly as possible, then leave and, while outside of their house, yell at him. Now he has to interact with people. And there’s a sinister smile on Ernest’s face, _fuck him._

 

“Yeah, Lucien,” Ernest snickers. “Go see Craig.”

 

He smiles, puts his arm around Ernest’s shoulders and drags him back to the couch, smiling. It’s not that easy. “Hey,” he says. “Um. I’m going by Lucien again, actually.”

 

Lucien and Ernest squeeze onto the couch, pressed unfortunately into each other. Yuck. There are now four people on this very very tiny couch. He wants to die. Bury him in Amanda’s front yard.

 

“Crap. Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He sighs. “I’m sorry for any trouble my idiot _strep_ -brother probably caused.”

 

Amanda lets out a soft laugh.

 

“No, he’s been… ah… interesting company,” Mr. Richardson chimes in, and Lucien is about to pull all of his hair out.

 

“Right.”

 

Oh. He’s actually pulling his hair out now. This is fine.

 

“So,” Craig coughs. “You and Damien got the invitations, right? Jamie and Amanda made special, fancy Goth wedding invitations for you guys. Thought you’d like it.”

 

“Yeah,” Lucien replies. “Dad really liked the word choice.” He turns to Jamie—ew—Mr. Richardson. “I’m guessing that was Amanda’s idea, right?”

 

“Hey, I can be cool too. I know things too!”

 

Craig stares at him.

 

“Yes it was Amanda’s idea okay she’s the perfect daughter and knows everything in the entire world,” he says, so fast that he’s out of breath by the end of the never-ending sentence in the never-ending conversation.

 

“What was that, Pops? I couldn’t really hear you—”

 

“Amanda, chill.”

 

Lucien and Amanda exchange a look and then, beautifully, perfectly, break out into simultaneous laughter. Old people, right?

 

Of course, Ernest has to tug on his arm and ruin it.

 

“Well,” Lucien sighs, clenching his fist, “I— _we_ —should get going. Congratulations again on the getting married thing. Bye.”

 

They both wave. Lucien mumbles _what the fuck is wrong with you_ to Ernest, and they walk to the door. They leave! They’re almost gone! Almost free! Almost—

 

“Hey, Lucien, wait!”

 

It’s Amanda’s voice. He turns to her slowly. “Yeah?”

 

“Thanks for helping. You’re a lifesaver, _seriously._ If he had stayed any longer, I think dad would’ve started crying, so. Thanks. See you at lunch tomorrow?”

 

Lucien smiles at her, and then remembers that he never smiles. “See you.”

 

* * *

 

“What were you even thinking?” he asks, pushing Ernest through his front door. “Like, what?”

 

Ernest takes a seat at his dining room table, buries his head in his hands. “That I didn’t need you. I could do it on my own.”

 

“I told you—”

 

He’s sniffling now, wiping his face. Wait. Is he crying?

 

Lucien sits down next to him, puts his hand on Ernest’s shoulder. He expects resistance, but: Ernest lets him, so something is _really_ wrong.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispers.

 

“I know I don’t... have a chance with her,” he says, after a few moments of silence. “I don’t even know why I…”

 

“Why did you do all of that, then, if you knew she’d never feel the same way?”

 

Ernest pulls him into a hug - what the hell? He’s still crying. This is new. They’re supposed to hate each other. They’re supposed to be - well. They’re supposed to act like siblings.

 

“What’s _really_ going on, Ernest?”

 

“I—I thought that if I f—forced myself to like her, I wouldn’t…”

 

He’s getting Lucien’s shirt wet. Gross.

 

“You wouldn’t… what?”

 

“I don’t know how you can be so… open… about being… what you are. And my dad and your dad. They’re so proud, but like…”

 

Oh shit. He’s a terrible person.

 

“Ernest?” Lucien asks, taking him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. “Who do I need to fight for making you feel this way? ‘Cause trust me, I will _end_ them, just say the word.”

 

“Yeah, how? You’re scrawny as hell,” Ernest replies, but he’s laughing.

 

“I’ve kicked some ass. You ever wonder why no one in school ever makes comments about me and dad being trans?”

 

“Because people are nicer in high school?”

 

“Because they’re scared of me.”

 

It’s partially a lie but whatever. Okay, more than partially but: _whatever._ He has a job to do.

 

Being a step-sibling is hard work.

 

“Thanks for the offer, I guess.”

 

“Any time,” Lucien says, and bites his lip, closes his eyes. “But seriously. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I’m sorry for being such a dick earlier.”

 

“You’re a dick always, so I’m used to it.”

 

Lucien laughs. “So. Who is it?”

 

Ernest looks away. “Um… it’s… kind of…”

 

“C’mon.”

 

“It’s… _Noah,_ okay? I like Noah.”

 

Oh God.

 

“I think literally every person in school likes Noah,” Lucien says, and _giggles._

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda self-projected onto Ernest with the internalized homophobia thing 'cause I've been feeling that lately... yeah


	2. spark

There’s only one thing Lucien is good at doing in an academic setting. Hint: it’s not learning.

 

His math teacher has basically given up on her goal of Making Lucien Pay Attention in class—when he  _ does,  _ on the very very rare occasions that he Actually Does The Work, he’s kind of okay at it. Just. You know.  _ Effort. _

 

It’s much easier to daydream.

 

_ Last day of high school. Mr. Vega and his father and Ernest are watching him, his father has happy-tears streaming down his face, Ernest is rolling his eyes but clapping anyway, they’re a family. It’s strange to daydream about this. His “other” father appears in his mind for a small moment, but Lucien crushes him between his fingers and moves on. His teacher and his teacher’s stupid, ugly, asshole son are more important than he will ever be. _

 

_ Before the graduation ceremony he helps Amanda with her makeup. She laughs. _

 

_ He receives his acceptance letter into art school. His father cries again. _

 

_ He’s old, and _ —

 

A piece of paper hits him in the face. His math teacher is mindlessly writing numbers on the whiteboard; he can practically  _ feel  _ the boredom radiating off of her. Every single person in this room would rather be doing something else.

 

“Shit, sorry, dude,” whispers the guy sitting next to him.

 

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that he has, indeed, just been passed a note, like he’s in elementary school all over again. It’s purple! Sealed semi-fancy with a sticker portraying a yellow sun wearing some sick shades. 

 

He can feel himself start to - blush? Is this blushing? Or has he suddenly developed a fever in the span of about sixty seconds? 

 

He’s blushing.

 

He has never “blushed” before.

 

_ God. _

 

**_hey_ ** **_lcuien_ ** **_lucien hey hey. hey lucien_ **

 

**_L U C I E N_ **

 

He scribbles back  _ what, who is this  _ lazily and hands it back. Who is sending him notes? Who would  _ do  _ such a  _ terrible thing?  _

 

Almost instantly: he’s hit in the face. Again. God.

 

**_it’s amanda duh._ ** Shit.  **_i have a question!_ **

 

_ Ok what is it?  _ he writes back.

 

He’s pretty sure that the guy sitting next to him is hitting his face on  _ purpose. _

 

**_no ill tell you at lunch, the reason im sending this to you now is that it’s kinda weird and i want you to prepare yourself for it_ **

 

His heart is  _ pounding pounding pounding _ —

 

what does this  _ mean _ —

 

fuck—

 

“Mr. Bloodmarch.”

 

He looks up from the paper, which has writing all over it now, ruining the cool aesthetic. The sun sticker is hanging sad off the edge. His teacher is standing above him; the anger on her face is obviously forced, but it’s  _ there. _

 

“What’s up?” he asks, fake-saluting her.

 

“You’re not twelve, are you?”

 

“I actually skipped a few grades, so—”

 

“Don’t be smart with me, please. I don’t have time for this. Text if you want to. Just don’t pass  _ notes.  _ It’s distracting the class. You’re gonna be in college soon, young man.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

She holds a hand up, then lowers it slowly, and goes back to writing her numbers. She  _ really  _ loves those numbers.

 

* * *

 

 

He takes one look at Ernest and chokes on his own spit. “Who dressed you today?”

 

This earns him a death-glare. Ernest is wearing one of his father’s old, ugly shirts—the fact that Lucien  _ knows  _ that it’s one of Mr. Vega’s old shirts is terrifying, and the only reason that he knows that is because he saw it in his father’s room a week ago, which makes it even  _ more terrifying.  _ 100% utterly and completely terrifying. He thinks, for a moment, that he should be an asshole and say something about it to Ernest, but  _ no,  _ then Ernest would  _ say things  _ to Mr. Vega about it. And that would be the most terrifying thing in the history of existence, probably.

 

“I did, dumbass,” he replies, making a sound that Lucien instinctively knows is supposed to be a sigh but in reality sounds like a dying whale. “My dog shit on my hoodie.”

 

Lucien snorts. “That sucks.”

 

“You think it’s funny.”

 

He tries to shrug. You know, a normal, minimal shrug, like normal human beings do. Instead his shoulders roll and his entire body sinks down. Lucien is  _ done  _ with all of the bullshit. Can’t things just be - this is ironic to say since he’s never  _ had  _ normal before, but - can’t they just be…  _ normal…  _ for once? Just for once, that’s all he wants. One single day of normal for Lucien Bloodmarch.

 

“Not today, actually. Just don’t be seen with me.”

 

Ernest stops him in the hallway. “Why am I  _ not  _ annoying the fuck out of you today?”

 

“Oh, no, trust me, you are. I just don’t have the energy to annoy you back right now.”

 

“Well, your  _ face  _ is annoying,” Ernest tries, and when it elicits no response: “fine, tell me what’s up, you’re no fun like this.”

 

Lucien drags him into a corner, out of sight, and pulls the note out of his backpack. He swats away Ernest’s  _ ooo _ hs and grabby, sticky hands and takes a moment to prepare himself. This is the absolute last thing he wants-—Ernest knowing, that is, despite the fact that Lucien isn’t sure what there is to know—but there’s no turning back now, he supposes. Whatever happens -  _ simply happens,  _ as his father says,  _ and you will ultimately learn to adapt to the will of the universe. _

 

He hands Ernest the paper. He reads it over for - much too long, muttering the words under his breath. “Your handwriting sucks,” he says finally, folding it back up but keeping it in his hands, “and she spelled your name wrong like three times.”

 

“What?” Lucien asks. “That’s not what I was freaking ou—um, confused about. And my handwriting is  _ fine. _ ”

 

“What are you… confused… about, then? It seemed kinda eh to me, what’s the big deal?”

 

He grabs it from Ernest and points at the last message. “‘Prepare myself.’ What does that even mean?”

 

Ernest’s eyebrows raise. “I don’t know, dude. Girls are weird.”

 

“No, they’re not,” Lucien responds, annoyed. “ _ They’re  _ fine, I guess  _ I’m  _ the weird one ‘cause I can’t figure it out.”

 

“Maybe you’re not supposed to figure it out.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Ernest smiles. “You know, maybe you just gotta… do what Amanda says and prepare yourself for like, the weirdest thing possible. It doesn’t have to be this big thing.”

 

Then he walks away, and  _ hm _ . Apparently he can be intelligent. On very very very very rare occasions.

 

* * *

 

 

He only realizes that he’s  _ running  _ to the cafeteria when he runs into Mr. Vega and inadvertently drops his sandwich on the ground. 

 

Breathing a  _ sorry,  _ he tries to slow down his pace. There’s - no need for panic. He can’t let this eat him. He is strong, and he adapts. Lucien is very good at adapting; he’s been forced to adapt to the new for - his entire life, essentially, things change and things change and Ernest was right, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.

 

(Maybe, he thinks for a moment, Amanda is the one thing that will stay the same—)

 

“Yo—”

 

Lucien shrieks. It’s an embarrassing shriek; the entire cafeteria must have heard it, because now people are whispering to one another and staring right at him, looking Lucien up and down like they’re  _ hungry.  _ Wait. No. They’re looking Lucien up and down, and they’re hungry - whether it is for gossip or power or attention, he does not know.

 

It’s Amanda with the  _ yo.  _ Of course it is Amanda with the  _ yo.  _ She’s the only one who says  _ yo,  _ and it’s quite fitting, too - he hears Amanda, voice smooth and sweet, and shrieks. 

 

God, he’s gross. She’d never—

 

“Oh. Hey. You scared me, I didn’t see you there.”

 

“Sorry,” she replies, and then she —  _ touches him on the shoulder.  _ He feels himself burn. It’s definitely a blush, this time, with no doubt to shroud around it. “I kinda feel like that note freaked you out. So, um, sorry if it did.”

 

“What? No. It didn’t freak me out at all.”

 

Amanda looks at him strangely for a moment, like she can  _ tell,  _ with her super intensely cool Amanda Senses, that he is lying. Then she shakes her head and says  _ good,  _ and Lucien can breathe again, can live again.

 

“Anyway… this is… awkward. And impulsive. But I have a  _ need  _ to get back at my—” she does airquotes “—friends. My old friends, I mean.”

 

“I didn’t think you were the revenge-type,” he says, smiling, and then she  _ winks  _ at him.

 

“I got a problem with authority.”

  
  


“Right.”

 

“So I was thinking—since they apparently hurt you, too, because I guess everyone in school has a thing for Noah—that we should go to the mall and show them how happy we are without them. You know, let them know that… even though I was like, exiled from their group and you were… um… anyway, I mean… I wanna let them know that I’m not the doormat they think I am. Make sense?”

 

He’s not really following, but he’s not going to  _ tell  _ her that, either. “Um.. yeah. So, what is it that you want to do?”

 

“This is where it gets kinda weird.”

 

“I’m good with weird.”

 

She says it with complete and utmost confidence, which pretty much means that yes, this is Just A Joke to her, and he’s just her Friend. Her “bro”. Her “dude”.

 

...which is okay? It’s not like he wants to be anything else. Now  _ that  _ would be weird.

 

“Will you, Lucien Bloodmarch, be my fake, one-day-only boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm extremely sick today so this might not be the best, but! whatever! i'll edit it later.


	3. you say the words that i can't say

 

There are admittedly many things that went through Lucien’s head upon reading the note—crazy, crazy things—but  _ this.  _ This. This was not one of them. This is literally the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, and he has had a  _ lot  _ of weird things happen in his life.

 

But. See. It’s hard to even  _ think  _ about saying no when Amanda’s staring at him with - fuck, what are those? How does one even begin to describe her eyes? They’re like… sunset...ish. Sunset-y. Honey and gold.

 

Okay. Stop.

 

When the  _ hell  _ did Lucien turn into the kind of person who poetically describes another person’s eyes in his mind like this is some kind of bad YA book? Fuck.

 

“This is, um....”

 

“It’s… too weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Lucien, I—”

  
  


“No!” he says, a little bit too excitedly (?????). “I mean, I’m—I’m down for it, totally, but it’s… are you  _ sure  _ you wanna do this? I mean, do you even know they’ll be there?”

 

Amanda laughs, throws her head back and  _ laughs.  _ It’s beautiful; somehow Lucien has begun to notice small things in life, like how beautiful his friend is when she laughs, like how lucky he is to be living the life that he is. “Lucien. My dear friend. My pal. They’re  _ always  _ at the mall. They’re like the stereotypical 90s teens from the stereotypical 90s teen shows that literally live at the mall. Of course they’ll be there.”

 

“Well, okay then.”

 

“So you’ll do it?”

 

He grins and hopes, for a moment, that he’s as beautiful as her. Then he locks her arm with his, and Amanda  _ giggles.  _ “Well, of course, wonderful totally real girlfriend.”

 

“Thank you so much, wonderful totally real boyfriend,” she replies, and, like he’s in a dream, floating in space, otherwordly, she kisses him on the cheek.

 

Lucien’s heart—his frozen, black, emo heart— _ stops. _

 

* * *

 

The rest of his classes go by like blinking. His teachers ramble on and on and on, and Lucien sits in the back of each classroom, thinking about: soft skin, sunset eyes, cheek kisses and dating jokes. He scribbles a few notes in his notebook absentmindedly; looking at them after class ends, they are illegible, looking like doodles more than words. Damn. Amanda is going to make him fail the semester.

 

It’s just very difficult to think about anything else. School? School doesn’t matter, it’s not like he cares about it, at all, ever. Why think about stupid things like “academics” when you have a bubbly, beautiful friend—friend!—who does things like. Well. Laugh beautifully and be beautiful and kiss you on the cheek.

 

It’s purely platonic admiration, of course.

 

* * *

 

She suggests holding hands while they walk down to the mall for “added effect”, and this is pretty much the breaking point, the rock bottom, the moment of truth, etc; her hands are so  _ soft,  _ they’re literally the softest thing Lucien has ever touched, and Amanda is  _ perfect,  _ every bit of her—

 

Maybe it’s more than “platonic admiration”, on second thought. He doesn’t know, exactly, at what level this admiration lies, what his mind views Amanda as, and most certainly he does not know how to decipher his emotions -

 

but -

 

Amanda breaks away from his hand and holds the mall entrance door open for him. “After you, dear,” she says, voice high and fake, and fuck, fuck this, he’s going to have to pretend to be Amanda’s Literal Boyfriend while simultaneously attempting to figure out his jigsaw puzzle mind and it is  _ not  _ going to be fun. This is terrible. This is absolutely the worst event that could possibly happen, ever.

 

But he curtsies, says  _ thank you, dear,  _ and enters the mall, links hands with her again. Her hands, of course, are still soft, not a dream. This isn’t a dream. It’s not like he has any “romantic” feelings for her. He’s been in love with Noah for so, so long - this being the perfect opportunity to show him his feelings and how they are buried underground - and he just. He just doesn’t “get” romantic feelings very easily. With Noah it was the time they spent together over the high-school years, it was gradual, it hit him in the face around Sophmore year and the point is: he’s strong and resilient and he does not have “romantic” feelings for Amanda Richardson. He just enjoys her company immensely. There, unpacked. That’s all this is.

 

“So,” she says, and leads him towards a bench by a toy store, “I have ideas. Also, put your arm around me.”

 

Lucien obeys, because what else is he going to do? Die? He’s dead, either way. “ _ So.  _ What are your ideas?”

 

“Ideas.”

 

“Care to elaborate?”

 

Amanda sighs. “I know exactly where they’ll be. They’re hanging out in the food court, and he’s probably stuffing his face with nachos, and Emma is there and - Lucien, can I tell you a secret?”

 

“Anything.”

 

She leans in,  _ fuck,  _ and whispers in his ear. “I liked her, too. Not just Noah.”

 

He feels a pang inside of him. It’s weird, so he ignores it; he is very good at ignoring. 

 

“ _ Oh.  _ So that’s… why this is so important to you?”

 

Amanda looks at the floor, smiles sheepishly. “Yeah,” she says, quiet, quiet, “that’s - yeah.” She bounces herself back to Normal Amanda almost instantly, terrifyingly, and says: “Anyway. You ready to show the world how—” (airquotes) “—in love we are?”

 

“Yeah, totally,” Lucien responds, but his voice cracks and lightens. He is so very  _ not  _ ready. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry FOR NOT UPDATING IN LIKE 3 YEArs, school just started for me and it's so weird!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> You can take my gay card away now! I can't believe I actually ship them, but. 
> 
> Anyway Please tell me what you think :3 will update frequently
> 
> ALso I'm on [tumblr](http://damien-bloodmarch.tumblr.com) if u wanna talk ;)


End file.
